Leave Something of the Happiness You Bring
by semnai
Summary: It gave him great pleasure finding those which he did not believe were worthy of continued existence on this earth and end it, seizing their life force from their veins, their warm blood serving a better purpose of sustaining him until his next meal. He was powerful and unaging; Hannibal believed himself on the same pedestal as God.


_"Once again...welcome to my house. Come freely. Go safely; and leave something of the happiness you bring." _Bram Stoker, _Dracula_

Humans are easy to read. Things like heart rate or pheromones and other chemicals their bodies give off without any control aided any being with superior senses an excellent idea of a specific human's current mental and physical condition. Nearly everything any predator needs to know to choose their prey. It was something Hannibal excelled in.

He could pick out the strong from the weak in a crowd effortlessly. The nervous from the confident. The sick from the healthy.

It gave him great pleasure finding those which he did not believe were worthy of continued existence on this earth and end it, seizing their life force from their veins, their warm blood serving a better purpose of sustaining him until his next meal. He was powerful and unaging; Hannibal believed himself on the same pedestal as God.

Humans would use the word 'vampire' to describe him but he thought the label too archaic to really do him justice. However, it was accurate enough to suit his kind. There weren't many of them that walked on this earth anymore. They were solitary creatures; Hannibal had only once met one other, and it had been nearly a thousand years ago in Riga, Latvia. They hadn't parted as friends. Predators sharing the same territory rarely got along and Hannibal left shortly after.

He continued on his own, relishing in his kills and savoring the life he gained from them, but as the years went by, the bite of loneliness, which he never expected himself to feel, grew.

All of which was why when he is first introduced to Will Graham, he is fleetingly bewildered. He had expected the low thrum of a nervous heartbeat or the tell-tale odor of perspiration indicative of the personality that was described to him by the file before him and Jack Crawford. Instead, there is nothing. No sounds, no scents and for half a second Hannibal freezes in disbelief. Another. Here.

Something is different about him though. Hannibal eyes him curiously, his interest truly piqued. Since he cannot sense Will's condition, Hannibal has to assess him visually. Will is tired looking, and clearly on edge. Uncharacteristic for their kind, although his sample size is rather small.

Will appears uninterested in Hannibal, distracted by the case and the sudden barrage of questions. But that isn't all that Hannibal distinguishes as… off from him. The last thing, the thing that is possibly the most important, Hannibal can't put his finger on. He is unable to help the smile that creeps on his face as he watches Will leave the room, knowing he will make sure to see more of this man. Will is unexpectedly vulnerable in a way that Hannibal would have never guessed in a million years to be possible for their kind, and he feels drawn to it like a cat to the chase.

Hannibal sits across from Will in his office, giving him the space he didn't ask for but Hannibal knows he needs. Will nervously fidgets with a loose thread from his worn shirt. His glassed over eyes indicate his mind is far away.

Behind his human mask, his eyes gleam with excitement and Hannibal leans forward, eager to start the session.

"Will."

Will's eyes snap up to focus on the knot of Hannibal's tie. "Mm?"

"I hope this arrangement will be satisfactory for both of us. Jack will have privilege of your mind in the field and with my help, I will able to protect you from what it must endure."

Will gives a nervous laugh. "I'm sure it will be very helpful," he said with, to his credit, Hannibal thought, only a touch of sarcasm. "Therapy has served me so well in the past."

Hannibal shakes his head reprovingly, but ignores his words. Will had possibly been alone as long as he had been but had not been equipped to handle it as he had. Thousands of years of isolation is unforgiving upon the mind if one did not have the protection of a proper mental palace. Taking Will under his wing felt like an charitable pursuit, and perhaps he'd even obtain a companion out of his efforts. Hannibal reflectes upon this with a thin smile, pleasantly surprised by the feeling but all too willing to ensure it will happen.

Will cooperates through the session, and even through his jaded answers and wariness of Hannibal's questions, Hannibal is able to ascertain Will's general condition. It's astounding to Hannibal the idea of Will Graham. He uses his enhanced senses to help people, to recreate the crime scene and form how the murders were performed in his mind. He is a predator of humans and he uses his gifts to protect them by catching the worst of human kind. The shear absurdity of it is clear but as he talks with Will in that first session, it somehow makes sense for him doing this. Hannibal wants to dissect his mind methodically so that he understands everything about him.

Blood drips down Hannibal's chin. He quickly wipes it with a red cloth napkin, shushing the man sluggishly squirming below him. This man's offense was beyond reproach in Hannibal's eyes; he had cut in front of Hannibal in line at the local specialty foods store and then belittled the young cashier.

The man's head is tilted allowing better access to the jugular vein. His heart is furiously pumping blood through his circulatory system, even as his entire system is going into shock. Hannibal however is sated and pulls away with a content smile on his face. He grabs a knife and cleanly slices the entire throat open starting at the two little marks where he fed. They call him the Chesapeake Ripper because of the way he tears his preys' throats open; they still haven't figured out his true method of extracting the blood, nor what he does with it.

Hannibal stays with the man until he sees the last spark of life die from his eyes.

Hannibal watches Will as they talk. He asks him about his life, and tries to read through the lies. Will still hasn't sensed who Hannibal really is, too distracted by all the other minds in his head, Hannibal speculates.

He enjoys his conversations with him and imagines what Will is like feeding on a human, blood dripping down his chin. He imagines Will free of the restraints he places upon himself, those that become more apparent the more they talk. He's holding back the predator within for a reason Hannibal is still trying to discover. He feels like he's working on a puzzle that's missing all the edge pieces. Hannibal can't figure out what's holding Will together, but knows the answer will thrill him. He just has to keep digging in that wonderful mind of his.

Hannibal takes his time as Will runs ahead of him, gun drawn. The man he's after, the prey he stalks, is ahead in one of these classrooms. Hannibal admires how quick and quiet Will is able to chase after the man. Hannibal has no doubt in Will's success in apprehending this latest murderer.

Sure enough, five shots ring out, and scuffling is heard just ahead. Hannibal slides into the room to observe the scene before him. Will is kneeling on the floor, blood splattered on his face like a painting and he observes Will's tongue flicking out to catch a drop on his lip, before closing his eyes as if savoring the flavor. Hannibal's breath catches, and he's suddenly overcome with an urge to take Will's head in his hands and lick the blood from his face, wiping the last droplet on his finger and placing it in Will's mouth so he can lick it with that beautiful pink tongue of his.

The urge is tempered though as Jack marches into the room, with the rest of the BAU team. He takes a deep breath and steps out to gather himself. Will is trying his patience like no one ever has before.

That night, as Hannibal is taking Will home, he wets his lips and looks over at a half-asleep Will.

"How does it taste for you?"

Will looks up, but stares out the window, blinking the sleep from his eyes.

"What do you mean?"

Hannibal shakes his head and minutely shrugs. It's a conversation for another time.

Will falls asleep before they reach his house, and instead of walking him up, Hannibal opts for carrying him inside. He feels oddly protective of this other being, and he's unsure of what to do about it.

He asks Will in therapy of how he felt when he killed the man.

Hannibal relishes Will's response that he enjoyed it but doesn't miss the guilt-ridden inflection of his words. For the first time, he feels worried for Will. It settles, leaden in his gut, and Hannibal wishes more than anything to dispose of it.

Will has to feed or otherwise he wouldn't still be here. As he watches Will pace his office, the realization hits him like bullet that perhaps Will doesn't normally consume human blood. That perhaps it was too much for him, that he feared what he would become by drinking it; he wasn't ready to give up his humanity. Not all must easily accept their status as gods, Hannibal muses, and he has an interesting case study in front of him. That maybe Will closing his eyes as he licked that drop of blood was Will trying to compose himself, to tell himself not to enjoy the taste, to not be drawn to attacking everyone in the room in his bloodlust.

It's astounding how Will has been able to cling to his humanity for so long, that he's been able to survive this long without human blood. He must be consuming animal blood. It would curdle the guilt temporarily that festers in Will's mind. He hates what he is, how he thinks. He must feel he's a monster. Hannibal knows what he must do.

The walls are painted red with blood, and the ground is a pool of it. Three bodies lay on the wet floor, empty and lifeless like mannequins in a gaudy haunted house.

It's a gift.

Hannibal ensures he's there when Will first sees it, to see his reaction to his present.

Will's chest draws tight with shallow breaths and his pupils dilate. His mouth slightly parts, and Hannibal can see how his hands shake with need and want. Like when he tasted the blood drop on his lip, Will closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Hannibal wants nothing more than to sit down with him in the cooling liquid and watch him drink.

Watch him give in to his true self.

Will, voice unsteady, politely excuses himself from the room, and all assume he was too disgusted by the sight to be near it; Hannibal knows however it's quite the opposite. The only thing Will is disgusted by is himself.

Will tells Hannibal of dreams of a dark stag, always standing nearby, a stable yet unsettling presence.

Hannibal nods with understanding and merely assures him he has nothing to worry about.

He pours Will a glass of red wine, and they sit on the couch talking late into the night.

Hannibal stops by Will's house to feed his dogs one morning when he's on a case with Jack in Colorado. Will lives alone, his house in the middle of a large property in the middle of nowhere in Wolf Trap, Virginia. Hannibal also appreciates the need for space.

He opens the fridge, brushing his fingers past packs of blood. He picks one out at random, and takes out a scalpel from his pocket. He cuts a tiny slit in the plastic and swipes the bead of blood that appears with his finger, placing it in his mouth. Pig blood he thinks. The taste has none of the richness and quality of human blood. This blood is dull and stale tasting, perhaps like only relying on cardboard for nourishment.

Pulling out a vial of blood from his jacket, he opens another bag of blood, and pours his vial in. Hannibal carefully closes that bag, and places exactly how he found it.

Something close to excitement unfurls in his gut as he's driving home to Baltimore that day.

Will appears more agitated at his next appointment. Hannibal sits in his chair serenely as Will furiously paces the room.

"I feel fractured, like I'm slowly breaking into tiny pieces and soon there will be nothing left of me. I'm trying so hard to hold myself together."

"Is it all so bad to fall apart? Perhaps only then you can rebuild yourself in a more stable arrangement."

Will just shakes his head and frowns, as if trying to evade Hannibal's words.

"I can't," he mutters. "I just… can't."

Hannibal stands and walks over to Will, placing a hand on his shoulder. Will looks over at him, clearly spooked by the sudden physical contact, but does not move away.

Hannibal says nothing, but just looks at Will. Will's eyes widen, and then the corners crease with understanding and sudden insight.

He pulls away, his breath hitching. "You—You're…" He shakes his head in disbelief.

"No, not possible."

Hannibal smiles, but continues to give Will his space. "All too possible, my dear Will."

Will is silent in thought for a minute, his eyes narrowed in thought. "How long have you known?"

"Since we met."

"How did I not…" Will groans, placing the palms of his hands on his eyes and pressing.

"A good question, and the answer I believe lies in your current feeding habits."

Will looks up, as if he's seeing Hannibal for the first time.

"What about them? I am free to do as I please," he says defensively.

Hannibal inclines his head fractionally. "Indeed you are. My apologies."

Will relaxes fractionally, but stays rooted to the spot.

Hannibal walks back to his chair as Will stays silent.

After several minutes Will speaks, almost to himself. "You… kill people. Feed on them."

Hannibal looks up at Will, head cocked slightly to the side, his eyebrows raised questionably. "Is it not our kind's nature?"

After about half an hour, Will leaves Hannibal's office, leaving Hannibal and Will to their thoughts.

Hannibal knows without a doubt that Will will show up for their next session. He cannot help be drawn to Hannibal, as Hannibal was drawn to him.

Will arrives at the next session, throwing a half empty bag of blood on Hannibal's desk.

"You did this," he says shortly, his brow furrowed.

Hannibal just stares at Will. "Did what?" he asks innocently.

"Contaminated it." Will stares at it with disgust.

"It was already contaminated, Will," Hannibal counters evenly.

Will shakes his head.

Hannibal walks around to Will, placing a hand on his upper arm. He catches Will's eye and schools his expression into the very picture of concern.

"You need to take better care of what enters your body, Will. We were not built to handle such…" Hannibal eyes the bag of blood with distaste. "…garbage."

"I'm only worried about you, Will. This is most likely why your mind has not been preforming as it should be as of late."

Will closes his eyes as if it would stop him from hearing Hannibal's words.

"It's only natural for us to prey upon humans, dear Will." He places a hand on Will's neck, his thumb lightly running across his jawline. Will only fractionally leans into the touch, but it's more than enough for Hannibal.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of or detest about yourself." Will's breathing is calm, and Hannibal places his other hand on the side of Will's face, bringing them close and tilting Will's head up.

"We are simply nature's top predators. Must we deny ourselves what has been given to us? Must we deny who we are?"

"They're… people. With fathers and brothers and sisters and mothers."

Hannibal tuts. "Will, in that way we can honor them. They give their lives to sustain ours." He moves one of his hands towards the back of Will's head so that his fingers begin threading into Will's curls. They're as soft as he would have guessed.

Making a noise in the back of this throat, Will pulls away, holding his arms out defensively, but Hannibal stays where he is.

"I was sustaining my life fine without _murdering_ innocent people."

Hannibal shakes his head. "This is not sustaining you Will. And who says we must only prey on the innocent?"

Will doesn't answer, and once again leaves shortly after, engrossed in his own thoughts.

Hannibal is nothing but patient.

Hannibal has another present for Will at their next session. The man's arms and legs are tied with thick rope, and a cloth is pulled across his mouth as a gag. Will's eyes widen in horror when he enters the room and sees him sitting in Will's usual chair. Hannibal stands behind the man, both hands on the back of the chair.

"No, no no no. Hannibal, let him go."

"Is that wise, Will?" Hannibal asks curiously, eyebrow raised. "This man is not one most people would want on the streets."

Beside him, the man whimpers.

Will shakes his head, and nearly growls. "What do you mean?"

"He was planning on raping someone tonight. Drugged their drink at a club." The man furiously shakes his head in denial.

Will looks to the man and then to Hannibal, his face pinched with distress.

"I can't, Hannibal. I won't."

Hannibal walks forward to Will, an easy smile on his face, always the snake offering up the apple.

"You've been fighting for so long, it must be such a burden, and a needless one at that, dear Will," he says in a quiet, calm voice. "I'm all alone, Will. So are you. Do you not want to share this existence together?"

Will swallows, his gaze glassy, but his eyes fixed to Hannibal's. "Not like this. I can't kill him."

"Do you not hear his heart pumping blood through his veins? How does that sound to you, Will?"

Will shakes his head frantically again, and his eyes pinch shut, but Hannibal doesn't miss the tip of Will's tongue wetting his lips. He knows Will has already lost.

"How long have you denied yourself this, Will?" he asks softly, reaching out to brush his fingers through Will's hair like one would a spooked animal. "I know how much you want it. I know how much it scares you. Will Graham," Hannibal pauses, and Will opens his eyes at the sound of his name to meet Hannibal's eyes. "Believe me when I say this is nothing to fear or be repulsed by. Do not fear yourself either. You've fought so long. No one doubts your strength."

Hannibal hooks an arm around Will's waist, and applies pressure, slowly, gently pressing him forwards. Will offers no resistance and soon he is in front of the man.

"Do you remember the taste?" Hannibal asks, his lips to Will's ear, his body embracing Will's from behind.

Will's eyes are closed again, and Hannibal can practically hear the remarkable thought process taking place in that mind of his.

His breathing is coming out in short pants, and when he opens his eyes again, Hannibal can only see black. He thinks it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

Will nods.

"Good," he says, and places his right hand over Will's, moving it to the man's neck. "Do you feel that?" he asks when he knows Will's fingers are over the jugular vein. The man struggles fruitlessly, his eyes wide with fear. Hannibal can smell it and he knows Will can too. It's intoxicating, and increases his own hunger for the prey laid out before them. But this time he won't indulge himself. This one is for Will.

Will reaches his left hand out too so that his hands are on either side of the man's neck.

"You're doing so well, Will," Hannibal says.

Will's breathing is labored now, and his fangs extended. In one fluid movement, he is on the man, his mouth at the man's neck, his fangs sinking into the man's flesh. The metallic, sweet, heady smell of blood lies heavily in the air.

As he feeds, Hannibal can hear him make exquisite little breathy moans, filled with longing and need. He watches as the man goes limp and the light disappears from his eyes.

After many minutes, Hannibal places a hand on Will's shoulder. "That should be enough, Will," he says gently. Will breaks away from the man's neck, turning to face Hannibal. Hannibal's breath catches at the sight.

The black in Will's eyes is receding but still present, and his face is flushed. His lips are red with blood and several drops rest on his chin.

"Come," Hannibal says, lightly placing his hand on Will's.

Will is drawn away from the pale corpse of the man to the couch. Hannibal pulls him into his arms, licking the drops of blood from his face. Will's eyelids are heavy, and he soon drops off to sleep, his head nestled on Hannibal's shoulder. Hannibal stays with him as he sleeps, a warm smile on his face and delight in his heart.

Several hours later, Will slowly rouses, his eyes turning up to meet Hannibal's. He watches as they widen, and Hannibal sees the flash of revulsion in them as he remembers what had happened.

"Shhhh," he admonishes before Will can even speak. His arms hold him in place so that he cannot pull away. "You have nothing to be ashamed of, and you cannot deny that this is the strongest you've felt in as long as you can remember." Will looks away, but says nothing.

"Good boy," he says, running his fingers through Will's hair once again. "How did it taste?"

Will looks down at his hands, and is silent for several moments. "Like a kiss of life, or a spot of sunlight after a millennium of darkness."

Looking back down to his lips, and remembering the blood drops there, Hannibal lightly presses his lips to Will's. Will shudders at the touch, and Hannibal slips his tongue between his lips, savoring the faint taste of the other man's blood still remaining on his lips, on his tongue, and on the roof of his mouth. Will begins to respond, his tongue meeting Hannibal's. He leans up, gaining better balance by placing a hand through Hannibal's hair. Hannibal's kisses are greedy, stealing Will's breath. Hannibal adjusts his grip on Will's waist, moving Will so that he's straddling Hannibal, pulling them closer. His hand sneaks under Will's shirt, nails scraping his hip, and then his fingers run up Will's spine, exposing more skin. As they continue to kiss, his hand moves to Will's chest, just as Will begins to tug at Hannibal's tucked in shirt, pulling it out, desperate for skin. Hannibal hums delightedly as Will's hand is able to sneak under his shirt, and the rest of it is quickly untucked. He wants more of Will; he wants to explore his body, to know another of his kind intimately.

But Will breaks off the kisses suddenly, worry creasing his brow, a question on his lips.

"What now?"

Hannibal smiles, his hand sliding down to Will's neck and Hannibal's lips follow, sucking on the flushed skin there, his teeth nipping at the skin.

"Whatever we desire, dear Will. Whatever we desire."


End file.
